


Red Pants Birthday

by jamlockk



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Birthday, Crack, M/M, Really very silly fluff, Red Pants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 05:48:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4734854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamlockk/pseuds/jamlockk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this tumblr post: http://jamlockk.tumblr.com/post/128421456732/centaurlips-redscudery-cleverwholigan. </p>
<p>Red pants with googly eyes attached. My kind of silly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Pants Birthday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Irrevocably_Sherlocked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrevocably_Sherlocked/gifts).



January is traditionally a rather cold month in England. On reflection, John wonders if he should’ve turned the heating up before slipping out of their cosy bed and through to the sitting room to prepare Sherlock’s birthday surprise. Never mind, the chill in the air won’t have that much effect on the situation…

He casts off his dressing gown and wriggles into the tight red pants. They fit quite snugly and John turns to admire his arse. Nice. He fishes about in the desk drawer for the silly card and the bag of googly eyes he’d bought especially for this occasion. Having seen the card in the shop last week there was no way he wasn’t buying it, and the ensemble he’s currently putting together, for Sherlock’s birthday.

He selects two of the biggest googly eyes from the bag and sets the rest back down on the desk. He looks down and contemplates their placement on his groin. He settles for sticking them near to his hips, just above the bulge of his sizeable cock. Perfect.

He struggles with the backing for a minute; the damn plastic just won’t budge, grunting in frustration. He stops and stills, frozen in place, when he hears Sherlock stir and shift in the bed. Sherlock lets out a pleased sigh, and everything goes quiet again. Good, he was just rolling over or something. John goes back to his battle with the sticky back plastic on the googly eyes. God knows Sherlock’s a sound sleeper once he’s down; the daft bastard runs on fumes too much so when he crashes he’s properly out for at least a solid ten hours. He takes up most of the bed as well, snuggling closer and closer to John until John gives in and lets himself get pleasantly squished by pale, heavy limbs and a curly head resting on his chest. And the snoring. Oh God, the snoring. Sherlock will never admit to it, but sometimes John wakes up wondering dimly if there’s someone rolling a wheelie bin full of stones down a hill outside their window.

John finally gets the backing off the googly eyes and gently presses them to the waistband of his pretty red pants. He shakes his hips a bit, making them roll side to side. Yep, that’ll do nicely. He bends down and yanks off his socks; the grey-ish wool full of holes would really spoil the aesthetic he’s going for here.

Satisfied with the package, John grabs the card and saunters back down the hallway to present his sleeping husband with his birthday surprise.

“Sherlock? You awake, love?” John whispers as he closes the door behind him. Jesus tap-dancing Christ, hardwood floors are freezing.

“Hmmmph, John?” Sherlock’s voice is rough with sleep and muffled. He slowly raises his head from where it’s been buried under the pillows. John watches him with a fond smile as the mass of fluffy hair turns to face him. Curls in wild disarray, usually pin-sharp eyes soft and dopey, Sherlock looks thoroughly adorable first thing in the morning.

John grins at him and presses the button on the card through the envelope. Tinny singing starts up and Sherlock begins to look more alert. And decidedly suspicious.

“John, what’s that noise? What are you holding behind your back? And what in the name of all that is good and holy is attached to your crotch?!”

John just keeps grinning and starts dancing. He shimmies and shuffles his way across the room, turning round to shake his arse towards Sherlock’s amused face. He brings the card out in front of him and throws himself onto the bed, flopping down beside his husband.

Sherlock raises an eyebrow but takes the offered envelope. The card has thankfully stopped singing. Sherlock is trying not to smile as he sees what’s inside and John lifts his arms up behind his head, crossing his ankles and wiggling his hips once more time.

“Happy birthday, love,” John says, humming happily when Sherlock bends down for a kiss.

“Thank you, John,” Sherlock says softly, reaching behind him to put the card and envelope on the bedside table. He leans down for another kiss, just as the card starts signing again. They break apart, giggling and Sherlock thumps the bedside table to get the card to shut the hell up.

John’s still giggling as Sherlock brings his other hand out from under the duvet to pluck at the waistband of his tiny red pants.

“Yes, love? Problem?” John asks.

“Oh, most definitely,” Sherlock hums, “these won’t stop watching me.” He slips his hand inside the waistband and John shivers.

“They have to go,” Sherlock growls, and John wholeheartedly agrees. He doesn’t mind in the slightest that his pants wind up staring at the ceiling after that.


End file.
